


This red and dusty path

by redsnake05



Category: Grand Sophy - Heyer, HEYER Georgette - Works
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Noncanonical Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-23
Updated: 2010-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-09 02:50:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redsnake05/pseuds/redsnake05
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The track is dusty and potholed. Sophy is glad to be riding, even if it comes with responsibilities that haunt her later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This red and dusty path

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shewhohashope](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=shewhohashope).



The track was not really as bad as the villager had made out. Sophy still wasn't quite sure why their little entourage had to come this way, but she supposed that if Sir Horace had sent word of smallpox in some tiny hamlet, it was only prudent to avoid the hamlet. She cantered easily beside the carriage, glad not to be in there when she caught a glimpse of Jane's set face, the green cast to the complexion of Mrs Hamill's maid. The carriage lurched again and she winced. She far preferred being out here, where she could see the sky and the horizon and control her own direction.

John Potton came up beside her easily, leaving Mrs Hamill's footmen behind for a moment. "We'll have to stop soon, Miss Sophy," he said. "Rest the horses for a space, since the next change is still some ways away."

"Whenever you see fit, John," she said. She glanced inside the carriage again. Mrs Hamill looked as unhappy as her maid, but her young son merely looked bored. Nothing was worse than a closed carriage for travelling. A flash of movement on the crest of a hill caught her eye and she looked again, just as three figures on horses broke from the treeline. Her pistol was in her hand before she even thought, calling a warning to John and the footmen. One of the men on the box of the carriage loosed his blunderbuss even as the driver slowed the carriage. The first bandit swerved and broke, regaining their line as one of the others released his gun over the heads of the travellers. Sophy felt dry-mouthed, a little sick, but her hand didn't shake. She held Salamanca steady, waiting until the three were close enough. John was by her side, stalwart and reassuring.

"Take the middle one," he said. All his kind deference was gone and his voice was grim. Sophy nodded and kept her gun down and out of sight, bringing it up quickly once they were in range. She had practiced often enough on the range, she knew she could make this shot. She couldn't think of the thunder of her own heart, the shouts and threats of the approaching bandits. She took the shot and the man fell, tipping off his horse in a liquid slide. Sophy barely registered the roar of John's gun next to her, the cut-off scream of his victim, or the frightened plunge and bolt of the remaining thug. All she knew was the weight of her other pistol in her hand. She couldn't remember drawing it, but she was glad she had, even though it wasn't needed.

She put both pistols away as John rode away to assess the status of the bandits on the ground. Mrs Hamill's frightened voice broke over her as she finally got the window open. Sophy turned her head and forced a smile over her numb face.

"Villianous rogues!" she said. "Never fear, Mrs Hamill, John and your men saw them off, and I trust we'll not have more trouble."

"Mercy!" said Mrs Hamill, one hand pressed to her ample bosom. "The sooner we get off this road the better." She subsided back into her seat with a huff, her son, now looking much less bored, hanging his head out the window.

"Are they dead?" he asked with obvious relish. "I wish I had shot one of them."

"John Potton will tell us," she said, turning from his bloodthirsty enthusiasm. He came up then, nodding solemnly to the driver and the footmen before coming alongside Sophy.

"All clear, Madame," he said, addressing Mrs Hamill. "Good clean shot," he added, to Sophy. "Dead." Sophy looked away, feeling sick suddenly. She kept her face blank, concentrating on Salamanca's nervous twitches.

"Let's continue, then," said Sophy. Her voice was very even. John moved forward to set them in motion again and Sophy was glad he didn't look at her or wish to talk further. She didn't wish to think of that moment when the man fell, the way all his animation left him in a sprawl of limbs and an arc of blood, the way it probably pooled under him and the way his eyes would now be staring sightlessly at the wide blue sky. She didn't want to think about how he probably had family, about what would happen to them now. Salamanca's gait was even, her hands certain on the reins. This was her world, and it didn't have to make sense. She merely had to follow the path she was given. She glanced again at the carriage as it jolted through potholes and swayed in and out of crumbling, dusty ruts. She patted Salamanca's neck and held more tightly to her reins.


End file.
